The 7th Wife of Henry the 8th: Royal Sagas: Tudors I

by Betty Younis

  “Well, then, order some repast and we shall make our way to the great woods.”

  Robert Janyns joined them as they ate ravenously of the food Bess had laid before them. He watched them with wonder as they downed one bite after another.

  “‘Tis youth, sheer youth, I declare,” was all he said as he nursed a strong cider and pushed away the food put before him.

  “Eat!” Henry ordered him.

  “Prince Henry,” the older man intoned in his high, squeaky voice as he stood and bowed to be dismissed, “I promise your lordship that the day will come when you, too, will pay the piper for having feasted the night before.” With that solemn oath, he took his leave, walking majestically, though a bit wobbly, to the door. He dramatically flung a red scarf over the same black clothing he had worn the day before, belched, and closed the door behind him. Charles laughed.

  “Why do you suppose the good Janyns wears such mournful color?”

  “Well,” said Henry, “‘Tis slimming…”

  They both giggled.

  “Promise me, my friend, if ever I should begin to show paunch around my middle that you will remind me how unbecoming such a state is.”

  “You? Never! You are tall and a bit railish if I say so myself. You might have problems as the years roll on my prince, but that t’will never be one of them.”

  “I will ask him about his choice of clothing,” declared Henry with a laugh, “For I meet with him to discuss the new Westminster Chapel of the King’s prior to joining Princess Margaret in her progress north to meet her new husband.”

  As they finished and rose, Henry shared his plans for the day.

  “We will go to Richmond today – I have ordered one of my father’s barges to take us up river and my falconer is already there.”

  “Ahah, what an ideal plan! I haven’t my equipment, though.”

  “You may borrow one of my gloves – what else do you need?”

  “You are right, my lord. That should be fine. You know, of course, that Hercules disappeared last year.”

  “No!” Henry exclaimed. “What a fine bird he was – what happened?”

  “We are not certain. I kept him at Westhorpe Hall and he chose not to return after a release last fall.”

  “I cannot keep any of my birds at Coudenoure. Elizabeth does not allow falconry on the grounds. She says ‘tis hard enough for any living creature to eke out an existence under the best of circumstances, and bringing in falcons does not constitute such conditions.”

  “And yet you hear nothing from the lovely lady.” Charles remarked.

  As the barge embarked and was oared slowly up river, Henry poured his grief out to his friend.

  “I know she loves me and I know she has the truest of hearts. I am beginning to fear that something has happened.”

  They both crossed themselves.

  “What says the English ambassador to the Vatican? Can he not look into the matter for you?”

  “I have tried that route, but he assures me that the Baron of Coudenoure and his retinue have not yet arrived at the Papal court.”

  “‘Tis strange, I will agree,” Charles said thoughtfully.

  “Will you look into it for me? If I seek answers beyond the ambassador, my father may become suspicious.”

  Charles laughed aloud.

  “My liege, do you not think that your father knows?”

  A look of alarm crossed Henry’s face.

  “How could he?”

  “I know not, but know it he does. The Earl of Surrey told it to me in the strictest confidence three months ago.”

  Henry was aghast. Charles continued.

  “Your father does not pay heed to it, you must trust me. Apparently, he believes it to be a childish infatuation that will pass. Indeed, there are other rumors abroad about your marital future.”

  Henry ignored the last and trolled his hand in the lapping water beside the moving barge. So his father knew but said naught. How to interpret such a strange turn of events? Did he think so little of his son’s chivalric nature that he believed Henry would engage in pre-nuptials and not follow through? Did he not even suspect the depth of the connection between Elizabeth and him to bring about such an event? The river water washing gently over his fingers took him back in time, and he closed his eyes remembering the day he and Elizabeth had hired one of the many wherries which served as public transport upon the River Thames. The small, two-seat craft were oared by pairs of rowers, and provided their passengers with cushions and awnings for the ride up river to London and beyond. Since Henry VII had moved his primary court to Richmond, situated upon the river north of the city, but yet still maintained Greenwich as a secondary residence, situated south of the city upon the river, wherries had become the most common way for courtiers and administrators to travel between the two, with frequent stops at Westminster in between.

  Henry smiled as he recalled Elizabeth screaming in girlish delight as she had stepped into the wherry. As they had traversed up river towards London, she had looked behind them repeatedly, predicting dire consequences should Lady Agnes become aware of where they were. On the way back to Coudenoure, the sun was behind them, the darkening river before them. It was magical then, and the memory of it was magical now.

  He remained quiet, lost in remembrances but still turning the new piece of intelligence over and about in his mind, examining it from all sides. Charles continued talking, heedless of his friend’s change of mood.

  “Yes, apparently, the King is well aware that you spend quite a bit of time at Coudenoure and he follows the improvements you make upon the house and the grounds with amused interest. He believes it is a healthy outlet for the artistic creativity which was initially encouraged in your youth, before your destiny became apparent. Evidently, the ministers with whom you train, the ones responsible for your education in the politics and governance of the realm, have told him that you daydream too often during the lessons. Your father feels that if you have a practical outlet for this bent of your nature, then you will be able to better focus on your lessons.”

  “Does he indeed?” Henry mumbled just to keep up his part of the conversation.

  “I believe he has even seen the plans of your work at Coudenoure. You know, Sir Robert Janyns was never known for his discretion. Besides, the work you have engaged in at Coudenoure is grand, Henry. It is truly becoming one of the finest estates in England. Of course, ‘tis very small, but over time you could enlarge it.”

  Henry snapped himself back into the conversation.

  “Yes, one of the very finest. Although, I hear tell that Lord Giles Daubeney has done remarkable work on that derelict ruin of the Knights Hospitallers up river from Richmond – what is it called? Hampton Court. Yes, that’s it. Order of St. John’s of Jerusalem.”

  “Daubeney?” Charles tried to put a face with the vaguely familiar name. “I know him not I think.”

  “Chamberlain of the King’s Household. Prior to that, the Lieutenant of Calais. Gray curly hair? Squinty eyes?”

  Charles shook his head and Henry waved his hand in a dismissive fashion.

  “‘Tis no matter. But Charles, why not stay at Richmond tonight and tomorrow we will ride and see it? Yes, I am told it is quite interesting. And William Fitzwilliam is at court at Richmond already. We shall take him with us!”

  A slow curve appeared in the river, and as the barge rounded a large promontory on the western bank, Westminster came into view. Henry never tired of watching London unfold itself along the ribbon of the Thames. The long façade of Westminster stretched imposingly on the east bank, with quays and docks obliterating the shoreline in its shadow. As the King’s barge came into view, the frenetic activity which roiled along the embankment and the road which split it from Westminster proper slowed first to a crawl, and then ceased altogether as the merchants and seamen realized whom it was ferrying upriver. A wave of bows then cheers in honor of Henry rose spontaneously. In turn, he rested his foot upon the lip of the great barge a
nd waved merrily back to them. It was an unrehearsed moment and one which filled both sides with glee and happiness. As Henry settled back amongst the cushions once more, Charles said nothing, but patted his friend’s shoulder. He would be a great king indeed.

  *****

  At long last Richmond came into view, and Henry was finally able to put the matter of what his father knew or did not know about his pre-nuptial state from his mind. Clearly, the King knew nothing of the pre-contract into which he had entered with his beloved Elizabeth. Otherwise, something would have been said. He must then know only of the “infatuation” as he termed it. Prince Henry was certain he had nothing to worry about – his secret was still secure. Lord William greeted them at the small dock used for the king’s personal transport.

  The afternoon was spent on the great plains adjacent to the palace. Henry’s companions were not at ease with one another and jousted to demonstrate superior knowledge to him of the sport of falconry.

  “Ah,” Charles replied after a particularly curt barb from Fitzwilliam, one which found fault with his handling of the hood each time the bird came to rest on his wrist, “I see that you take advice from a woman, and a convent prioress at that!”

  “Indeed, Dame Berners has much good advice on the subject, but how would you know, since you can barely read.”

  It was becoming unpleasant and Henry tired of the constant jibes. Here of all places, among friends at his own father’s palace, he should be able to relax instead of becoming judge and jury of which friend was the finer courtier. The constant bickering reminded him of the days in which he dutifully trailed behind his father at court, tending to administrative matters, listening to the advice of his inner council, hearing petitions. Everyone wanted to be first among the many; everyone used him in some manner to improve their own estate. An almost palpable jealousy permeated the air. Henry found it suffocating. He retired early from the field, and took dinner en suite. At dawn the next morning, he slipped quietly away to the dock, and was up river before his friends were even awake. He smiled, imagining their faces as they read the note he had left behind.

  The mist rising off the river shrouded the barge in a veil that enveloped it in solitude. Henry listened to the rhythmic strokes of the oars, waiting for the sun to break through, eager to see what had been done to yet another monastery no longer used by those called by God. A streak of sunlight on a building up ahead caught and held a gleam from a finial on a large roof. Henry realized he was looking at the chapel at Hampton Court. A letter the previous evening had alerted the tenants of his arrival, and a small party waited for him upon the quay. All bowed deeply as the barge was tied. An older man matching the description given by Henry to Charles the previous day now stepped forward.

  “Welcome, my prince.”

  “Lord Daubeney, thank you for arranging my visit and on such short notice particularly.”

  “Aye, well, I wish to show Hampton Court to all those who will see it!”

  He led Henry through the outer buildings – a brewhouse and a dovecote – chatting as they walked. The party had fallen away from them, and Giles Daubeney broached the subject the king had tasked all his ministers with discussing with Henry, should the opportunity ever arise.

  “Young prince,” he began, “The King tells me that you will be participating in the progress north for Princess Margaret’s wedding to the Scottish king. ‘Tis the time of year for weddings, is it not?”

  “Um?” Henry suddenly remembered Charles’ statement the day before: “There are others rumors abroad about your own marital future.” He stiffened slightly but the older man did not notice.

  “Lord Daubeney, it might be, but I prefer to discuss that window yon – do you have your own glazier who designed it?”

  But Daubeney would not be deterred.

  “No, sire, he is the King’s man, but our sovereign allows him to work for me on occasion. Tell me, have you considered marriage yourself?”

  “‘Tis blunt, your conversation,” Henry replied.

  The older man smiled.

  “Perhaps, but I have heard rumors that the Princess Catherine is pining for a man. They say she is ripe and lovely.”

  “Do they?” Henry asked. “And so soon after my brother, dear Arthur? What kind of woman would even be considering such matters directly after becoming a widow?”

  Henry walked on out of earshot and Lord Daubeney skipped to catch up.

  “A fine dowry attaches itself to that Spanish woman, did you know?”

  Henry was fed up and turned in peevish anger.

  “I believe I have seen all I desire this day, my lord. ‘Tis gracious of you to be so kind to me, but now I will take my leave.”

  Nothing Daubeney could say or do deflected Henry from his grim walk back to the barge. The oarsmen were eating food supplied them by Daubeney’s kitchen and flirting with the scullery maids who had brought it to them on the dock. As Henry appeared, they frantically left the plates where they were and took up their positions on the barge. With no ceremony and a curt nod of his head, Henry directed them to take him back to Richmond. Daubeney stood on the dock with his hat still in his hand, wondering what he would say to the King.

  So that was what Charles had alluded to. His father was brewing a marriage for him, and to his own brother’s widow at that! Henry’s stomach turned as he thought of it. If his father so ordered, then he must so do. But he breathed deeply, reminding himself that it had not been commanded of him…yet. Henry would have to speak to his father after all and tell him of his pre-contract. There was no other way to protect his vows to Elizabeth, for if the King arranged a marriage before knowing, only wrath would come his way, wrath with no Elizabeth in the bargain, for the King would honor his word to another king, Catherine’s father, before he would that of his son’s to a mere baron’s waif.

  But the timing of the conversation was not easy to judge. If such news were to come out now and in any way disrupt the much heralded wedding of Margaret to King James, it might prove to be to his own detriment, angering the king and predisposing him to deny Henry what he wanted most of all. He was not naïve enough to think that Lord Daubeney had brought the subject up of his own accord. No, the king must have set him about the business. Henry realized that he would have to be very careful indeed to avoid any such talk with any of the king’s ministers who were accompanying Margaret on her progress north. And he would have to leave as soon as feasible after the wedding to ride back south to discuss the matter with his father. In the interim, he could only pray that King Henry had not already vouched safe his second son for Catherine. An unholy mess indeed.

  The news drained all light from Henry’s world, and upon arriving back at Richmond, he sent for his things from Greenwich and Coudenoure – he would remain at court until the progress began. Fitzwilliam had left early that morning, called back to Aldwarke by John Neville, the Marquis of Montacute, who was also his father-in-law. Charles was in no better mood than Henry as they walked along the bank of the Thames, while Henry told his friend of the conversation with Giles Daubeney. As he finished, Charles spoke commandingly.

  “You must, Henry, you must tell your father about the pre-contract. Otherwise, in his ignorance, he will betroth you to some continental princess or worse, your own brother’s widow.”

  Henry nodded his agreement.

  “But t’will be bloody difficult to avoid such conversations if my father has commanded them of his councilors. They serve him well, you know.”

  Charles considered for a moment.

  “Who will be accompanying you northward?”

  “Surrey.”

  “Hmm, and his wife? Mind you, his wife will be more than happy to discuss her own daughters with you, my friend. It seems you are beset about with women as far as the eye can see!”

  “I can manage the earl’s wife, Charles, and likely the earl himself. But Northumberland will be joining us, and he is formidable when he chooses to be.”

  “Have you seen his
face when he is angry?” Charles asked, clearly recalling some terrifying moment from the past.

  “Indeed, I have. It was when I could not recount the lineage of some west country baron who is related to him. The lesson was quite painful that day.”

  They walked on in silence for some while, each scheming how to relieve Henry of any conversation involving matrimony during his sister’s wedding celebration. Finally, Charles sighed.

  “There is no amulet to protect you and Elizabeth, I am afraid. You must use your rank and dignity to silence them before they can launch into such speech.”

  Henry brightened.

  “Indeed! They may serve my father, but I outrank them.”

  “And if all else fails,” advised Charles, “Take to your bed with a cold and claim you feel sweatish.”

  Henry roared with laughter.

  “‘Tis good! Although I believe “sweatish” is not in the king’s English.”

  “And get clear away at the earliest moment you can. You must ride hard to reach the king before they do, for if they have failed in their mission to discuss the matter with you, it will only be because you have ordained it, and they will realize it.”

  Henry felt better having a plan in his pocket – it was the uncertainty of what actions to take which always caused him anxiety. Now, he knew how he would handle them.

  “And you?” he turned to Charles.

  “Ah, more tilting and tennis for me,” he laughed. “But I am due some new clothing from the continent so that will be interesting.”

  “Will you do something for me?” Henry asked in sudden seriousness.

  Charles heard the change in tone and stopped.

  “Anything, my liege and my friend. What is it?”

  “I grow more fitful about my Elizabeth each day. I need to hear from my beloved. And yet all I receive is silence.”

  Charles patted him on the back.

  “I have it, my prince. Do not worry again. By the time you return, I shall have found the weak link in the chain between the two of you and shall have repaired it.”

  Henry sighed with relief.

  “I trust only you with this.”